I was going to make use of the information I was about to acquire.

"I will ask Cousin Fred," I decided (Cousin Fred being a stockbroker), and
I smiled a little to myself as I thought how amazed and possibly amused my
dapper cousin would be when he learnt the source of my knowledge. He might
even refuse to believe in it--and then where should I be?

I needn't have troubled. When I unfolded my rose-petals this is what I
read:--

"_Stocks._--The white ones are much the best and have by far the sweetest
scent.

_Shares._--_Always_ go shares."

R.F.

* * * * *

HEART OF MINE.

(_Being a rather hysterical contribution from our Analytical Novelist._)

_Friday._--I suppose one never realises till one is actually dead how
nearly dead one can be without actually being it. You see what I mean? No.
Well, how blithely, how recklessly one rollicks through life, fondly
believing that one is in the best of health, in the prime of condition, and
all the time one is the unconscious victim of some fatal infirmity or
disease. I mean, take my own case. I went to see my doctor in order to be
cured of hay fever. He examined my heart. He made me take off my shirt. He